Maschera Egli Chi Nascondere
by MusicaDiMaschera
Summary: Erik tells his tale after death and finds himself stumbled upon a new and modern Paris, France. With all of these new changes and unexpected turns, will his broken and silent heart find a new infatuation as well?
1. Chapter 1

Christine was at my side as I drew my last breath; as she promised she would be. After that I felt nothing, neither serenity nor restlessness. Simply bleak emptiness. I suppose I could have labeled it calm, considering that my pain was gone, but then again I could've at the same time labeled it agitation, seeing as I was uncomfortably void of emotion. I saw nothing; heard nothing, and I was like this for a considerable amount of time, until eventually I perceived it as a sort of natural, maternal tranquil. I began to feel at ease, like a fetus in a womb. I no longer had a need to worry. I lacked the mortal conscious; the fear of dying, the pestering guilt, the need for nourishment, the wanting, the needing for some form of meaningless accomplishment. After fifty long years, my mind was free.

Naturally, when I realized my state of mind, everything in itself began to turn around. Paranoia started to ravage through my brain, along with all of the rage and the malice that I had come to terms with so many other times in my life. So suddenly had I gone from complete and total harmony to sadistic, utter madness. I wanted everyone to die. I wanted Christine, my love, to die. I wanted her suitor, that impudent, infantile Count de Chagny to die. Even those that no longer lived, I wanted to die. My mother, I wanted her to die. Madame Perrault, who was a better caretaker than my mother; I wanted to die. Giovanni, that gifted architect. He was the only man whoever treated me with genuine kindness. I wanted him to die. Nadir, yes, Nadir, who made certain I never caused too much trouble. Him, too, I wanted him as dead as one could ever be. Ah, he always wanted the same for me, didn't he? Well, look here, old friend, look where I am now! I'm sure you'll be gloating in your jubilance! I haven't seen your son, no, he isn't here! But I'll be damned sure to tell you once I have!

And just as quickly as it had come, the rage had gone. Again I was in that empty state of mind. I was surrounded by black. As much as I tried to look around me, I could see nothing. Despite my atheism, I was half-expecting to find the image of hell that Dante Alighieri had painted in my mind. The suffering, lonely souls that had sinned every bit as much as I had; the notes of Mozart's _Dies Irae_ protruding the silence at every waking moment. But no, there was nothing. Then, I began to wonder, in my ceaseless void of darkness, if hell merely pertained to a certain person's perception. Perhaps hell was what would torment a single person the most. As I existed where I was, I thereafter began to wonder if this, where I currently lied, was hell. Surely being left to my own thoughts would torture me relentlessly.

It seemed like hours until at last I decided to stop thinking entirely, which, rather frankly, was quite a task for me. Nevertheless, I existed. No thoughts, no feelings. Nothing of any sort pertained to me, aside from the fact that I was there, and that no one knew it but me, and me alone. I closed my eyes, and I was met with a familiar sight; emptiness. I allowed myself to meditate. I lied there for what felt like forever. All the while, I was creating music in my head. I relaxed, and Massenet's _Meditation de Thais_ occupied my brain, all the while ringing in my ears. And I swore I felt a smile tug at my face.

When the last chord was played on my mental violin, all became serene again. I opened my eyes. Shortly after, I had begun to wish I hadn't done so. Compared to what I saw, the bleakness was a sanctuary. In front of me lay my decrepit old corpse. There it was, that ugly thing that I was harnessed inside for so long. Imprisoned by that libertine shell I remained until at last Hades freed me. Christine was there. Still there. Kneeling. Waiting. She held onto that hand, my hand, as if it were made of porcelain. With trembling hands she placed the ring on my finger, and stood. Taking one last look at me, she turned and left. No doubt the boy was waiting in the other room. And then it dawned on me. She had kept her promise. She had promised me, when I gave her that ring, that after I died, she would place it on my finger, so that I could carry into death with me the one physical thing that I had given her. She always was a sweet girl, I knew that. I also knew exactly how she felt as she left that room. I knew that there was little sorrow in her heart. As a matter of fact, she was relieved. After being preyed endlessly as she was by me, she had no reason not to be relieved. I didn't follow her as she left. She had been followed enough.

I was met with a pleasant sight, shortly after. Ayesha, elegant and graceful as ever, entered the room. The elaborate yet gaudy collar I had stolen from one of the royal felines in Persia still hung from her neck, its jewels glittering in their familiar splendor. Her crossed blue eyes stared directly at where I stood and it warmed my empty ribcage to know that one person, or rather, cat, still recognized my existence. I looked down at where I stood, out of my own curiosity as to whether or not I retained my previous appearance. I could see myself. I looked no different. I still had on the same black suit and as I reached toward my face I could feel that my mask was still in place. There wasn't a glimmer of hope inside of me that thought that perhaps I would no longer be grotesquely disfigured. I lifted my mask ever so slightly, and felt underneath. My intuition was right, as it had always been. I still had the need to wear my mask. I shut my eyes in shame. However, I opened them when I felt an odd sort of warmth spread down my leg. There was my Siamese beauty at my feet as if nothing had changed. In a way, nothing really had changed. I was still among the dead, however ironically closer this time around might have been. I looked the same, I felt nearly the same, and my process of thinking wasn't altered in the slightest. It was a bittersweet realization as it dawned on me that I wasn't so different from when I was alive.

Ayesha merely sat there and looked at me, waiting. I walked over to her in whichever physical state I was in, and reached my hand out to stroke her fur. As I did so, I noticed her hesitation before she leaned her head into where my hand should have been. In the quiet I could hear a low rumble begin in her throat. There was no mistaking it, she knew I was there. I stood up to my full height and left the room. As I did so I could hear voices coming from the main room. I walked in to find Mlle. Daae, her suitor, and Nadir seated comfortably on the furniture. How dare they make themselves at home in my house! They had no right to be there in the first place! I called for Christine and Christine only, not Christine and everyone who decided to merrily follow! That wretched Chagny… He looked so comfortable and at ease as he rested on my sofa, leaning forward with his forearms rested on his knees. His gloved hands were folded before him and he sat there quietly as Nadir and Christine made conversation.

"Christine," Nadir began, placing what was intended to be a comforting hand on her shoulder, "You granted his wish; there's no reason to feel guilty."

That traitorous _daroga_! I knew he would say something like that! Of course, it would be only natural to feel the need to console my frail and fragile Christine, but to betray me and act as if my every desire in life was fulfilled solely by her hand is completely absurd! Indeed, she made the majority of the impact, but I'll be damned if credit is to be handed to her on a golden platter!

Christine simply stared into oblivion. She was thin and pale, and her white evening gown hung on her bony frame like wet linens on a clothesline. She was pathetic-looking, honestly, and even her blond curls appeared to lose their luster, hanging limp like straw from her angelic head. If I were so bold, I could even venture as far as to say she began to look somewhat similar to myself, with hollows underneath her eyes, and being so unhealthily thin.

The viscount stood and took Christine's chin between his thumb and index finger.

"Christine," he called, as if she were a child, "We have to go now, my sparrow. The doctor is waiting for us at home." The manner in which he articulated each word made me sick to my stomach. It was as though she didn't have a brain in her skull.

Christine nodded in reply. It appeared to be all that she could muster at the moment. I sighed, which I found rather strange, seeing as I didn't really have lungs, and I walked over to Christine and placed my arm around her waist. I saw the hairs on her arms raise and she shivered. Both Nadir and the viscount looked at her simultaneously. Then, with puzzled expressions, they faced each other.

"Come, Christine. We need to find you a nice, warm place to stay." He stopped abruptly, and drew a large breath top emphasize his importance. "I have an idea. When we get home, we can get you some of that tea you like, you know, the kind we had in Nice?" Christine nodded. He and Christine began to walk away, but Nadir stayed behind. He looked around in an awkward sort of manner, and reached for the amulet around his neck. He watched Christine and her suitor as they finally disappeared from sight. Then, he spoke aloud.

"Erik," he called, threateningly, "I know you're here. Don't think for a second that I missed what you did to Mlle. Daae!" My fists curled, and my temper began to flare. What on Earth made him believe that he had the right to speak to me so rudely! If he persisted, I would have to show him that he no longer had any control over me. I kept an eye on the bottle of white wine on the table.

"Erik, listen to me! Leave her alone! You pestered her enough when you were alive!"

'Pestered'? 'Pestered'? 'I _pestered_ her'?! I had heard enough. Without a second thought, I grabbed the bottle of wine and threw it with everything I had in his direction.

Nadir managed to dodge it by an inch or two, much to my displeasure. He straightened his posture, and his heaving chest was more than just a tad obvious.

"Erik," he wheezed, as if accentuating my name would fill him with some sort of power, "Don't think you can frighten me!" I smiled in amusement and arched my brow at his attempt to look courageous. "I kept you out of trouble in life, so there's no reason that I can't do the same in death!"

I shook my head and walked to the door. I opened it, knowing fully that he would notice, gesturing him to leave.

"I'm so sorry, daroga, but it's high time you leave," I said calmly, as I stood by the door. The word "leave" rang throughout the stale air.

Nadir's grip on his amulet tightened. "Very well then, I'll leave. But know that you'll see me here often!" He swiftly grabbed his cloak off of the arm of one of the two sofas and threw it around his shoulders. He sped out the door faster than I'd seen him run in years. As soon as he was out the door, I slammed it behind him, and began to laugh uncontrollably. My laughter was deafening even to my own ears, but I simply couldn't contain myself. I had finally won against him; truly won, and yet I was the only one here to celebrate my victory.

"How sad", I thought aloud, as my self-control started to restore itself, "I suppose I always could fill the room with a little Haydn to further brighten my mood." I looked toward my room and I observed a black tail sweeping the floor by where my body lay. "Ayesha!" I called, walking toward the massive pipe organ on the wall. Ayesha apparently heard me, because at once she darted in my direction. How ironic. Her name finally suited her. She truly was 'alive' compared to everything else in the room.

I chuckled softly as I took my place at the bench. My grin quickly turned into a scowl as my eyes rested upon the score of '_Don Juan Triumphant_' that lay before me. I had said that I wished to be put to rest with it, but as I looked at it, it mocked me. It laughed at my suffering! I heard it through looking at the notes on the staff, through the endless fortes and fortissimos; it laughed, bellowing at me through my eardrums, never ending! I raised my hands to my ears, trying to block out the noise, but the music was in my head, and I knew there was only one way of getting it out. I rose in a blind fury and brought my hand against the composition, sending unnumbered pages scattering across the room. Occasionally a page or two would fall into the lake, causing the red ink to leak out and create little colored swirls in with the dark water. I stood there panting, the music still not gone. I could still hear it jesting at my pain! With a frustrated growl, I slammed my palms down against the first row of keys. An ear-piercing dissonance consumed the house, leaving it nowhere to go. I raised my hands from the ivory and collapsed on the bench in sobs. Tears flowed from underneath my mask and onto the ivory keys. It was more than I could bear. But the music was finally gone. All of that intolerable white noise had left. At last, I could become calm again.

A small cooing noise came from Ayesha. I looked down at my side, and there she sat, looking up at me in confusion. I scratched the top of her head and her eyes closed in innocent pleasure. A smile caught me by surprise as my palm traced her slender curves. Eventually she began to purr and rubbed against the leg of the bench. I stood and walked to my massive wardrobe. As I decided on what to wear, I came to the conclusion that wearing the same thing more than once wouldn't be so bad.

I finally settled on a black suit and tails with a drab cravat to accent. Black shoes slid on my feet, as well as black gloves on my hands. Taking off my white mask, I exchanged it with a black one to match my attire. I looked down at Ayesha and pet her head once more.

"I'll be back, Ayesha. Don't get into too much trouble." I grabbed my cloak, draped it around my shoulders, and headed out.

I made my way through the cellars with ease, as always, but then I began thinking. I truly had no need to weave through the passages, like a needle through thread. After all, no one could see me. As I slid effortlessly through cellars four, three, and two, I was met with several questions. I stopped at cellar one and my mind began to behave like its usual curious self. I remembered all of the superstitions about ghosts that I had heard over the years. One of those consisted of the ability to walk through walls and use them as windows. I grinned at this and decided that I would experiment. I had a basic idea of how this would work. It would all be a certain mindset. I walked over to an empty wall and inhaled deeply. I closed my eyes and set my destination in mind. I concentrated on the wall by the entrance of the Palais Garnier. With this, I stepped forward, and continued to step forward. After five paces I opened my eyes. I had succeeded.

Firstly, I'll admit that being out in the open, so to speak, made me quite uncomfortable. But as I looked around, no one saw me. This invisibility had its charms, but at the same time, my going unnoticed filled me with disappointment. Regardless, I kept to my task and walked out of the main doors of the Palais Garnier that I had helped construct.

***

The Paris streets remained virtually unchanged. I walked with the rest of them for once. I was at last deemed "normal". I looked up at the sky, hoping for perhaps a glimmer of sun here or there, but there were only thick, dark, clouds in its place. My eyes wandered, having no particular place to be, and I spotted an abandoned paper on the walk. Out of my ever-so-persistent curiosity, I stooped over and picked it up. As I rose, I took pleasure in noticing that my back and knees no longer ached. I skimmed through, finding nothing interesting, and at the same time I was surprised that nobody noticed a levitating paper. Then again, it was nearly New Year's Eve, and no doubt one third of the pedestrians were intoxicated. It was rather surprising, actually, a New Year's Eve with no snow. As I flipped to the last page, I saw something that made me feel as if I hadn't been forgotten after all. In a small column of its own read the words 'Erik is dead.' I allowed the paper to drop at my side. And I stood there. A clap of thunder didn't even wake me from my trance. I simply stood there, and wondered who it was that held the generous heart to even mention my name.

Another clap of thunder, and then rain.

It was a steady downpour at that. Within seconds my clothes were drenched, or so I thought they were. As civilians scrambled for cover, I stood there, and tears filled my eyes as I realized that I could do something that I had never been able to do before. I removed my mask and let the rain caress my face. I closed my eyes and inhaled the moist air. Whether it was the rain or the tears that stung my eyes, I shall never know. Like that of a stereotypical novel, I fell to my knees, overcome with emotion. That emotion was freedom- something I never would have dreamed of experiencing. A minute or two, I knelt there, and for the first time, the only music that I heard was the music of something that couldn't possibly be reproduced by man. The Earth. The rain. The wind. I was consumed by short and broken sobs, with only my knees and palms supporting me. I could feel the dirt rubbing uncomfortably against my hands. My mask lay untouched by right hand.

A carriage began heading in my direction. I immediately replaced my mask, and no sooner did the carriage pass through me. I started to feel light-headed at once, and I felt my torso swaying with every swoon. I raised my fingers to my temple to attempt to clear my thoughts, and everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

When I awoke I was in my casket; the one that I normally slept in. Oddly enough, my corpse was no longer there. I sat up and I did my normal routine of calling for my beloved Ayesha. I called again and again. No answer. I listened intently for the tinkling of her jeweled collar, but I heard nothing. Glumly, I rose to pursue her whereabouts. I checked in every room. She was nowhere to be found. My heart sank when I walked over to her cat bed, the one place I didn't check. There in the bed was the collar, and Ayesha wasn't wearing it. I felt tears begin to well in my eyes as I realized I would never see her again. But as it may have been, I controlled my breathing and told myself that crying wasn't going to change anything, and that it would be best just to accept the truth.

With a slow and steady exhale I changed into my normal wear, which consisted of one of my many dark, formal suits. Without taking another look back at the empty bed, I looked at the wall, closed my eyes and forced the main hall of the Palais Garnier into my mind.

I opened my eyes when I had reached my destination, and looked around. No one was there. What was once a beating heart now sank as I was met with the eerily ghostly sight. It occurred to me then that perhaps a place like this was truly where I belonged. I walked to the main doors, the only sound audible to me being the sound of the heels of my dress shoes. I opened the main doors, and what I saw looked like something out of a strange and twisted dream. Odd machines lined the streets, like some disturbingly metropolitan version of the carriage, except with no horses attached. The pedestrians were dressed in odd attire, women dressed like men in pants and long shirts, with their hair cut short. The men all had their natural hair, and some of them even held up a strange colored box to their ear into which they would speak. Some of the eyeglasses were so dark that you couldn't see the wearer's eyes if you were an inch from their nose. And by God, the noise! Absolutely awful! Loud piercing sirens, and people talking so damn loud one could never hear himself think! I continued to look around at this strange place, and I had started to wonder if I was still in Paris. So, I looked about me. To my left was the café that was there before, and in the skyline, the steeple of the church that Christine had often went to.

My mind raced with dozens of possible explanations for this peculiar and fascinating phenomenon. Perhaps this was hell? No, no, no, not enough misery. Heaven? No, of course not, this place was far too busy. Eventually I invented an explanation that would satisfy me. This was Paris in the future. It had to be. There was no other sensible reasoning. So here I was, in France's future. I had no knowledge of how to operate the technology, as much of an inventor as I was, and I wasn't even certain if the language had remained the same. I would find out, though. And I would find out soon. As I stood there, absorbed in wonder, a group of schoolgirls rushed past me, laughing loudly and speaking at an inconsiderate volume, as one would expect them to. Naturally, I turned to watch them pass, seeing as they were in such a hurry. Afterward, I noticed that a professor was ahead of them, and that they were headed in the direction of the Palais Garnier. I was beyond inquisitive at this point, so I decided to follow. I pursued them, staying a fair distance behind, lest anyone should detect my presence. They walked inside the building, and I was half-inclined to hold the door open for them, but I wasn't sure that doing so would be perceived well.

I followed the crowd inside and stopped as they did. The professor, I noticed, was speaking in Italian. I was fluent in Italian, luckily, as well as Russian, German, French, Arabic, Spanish, English, and Swedish. I stood there and did what anyone would do. I listened in.

"Girls, listen to me," the professor began. She was a middle-aged woman, approximately thirty-five to forty years of age, with oval glasses and what I assumed was a woman's suit. Dark heels accented her feet, and I noticed a gold bracelet hanging from her right wrist.

The girls before her appeared anywhere from fourteen to eighteen years of age, and all wore the same green, red, and white uniform. They all continued chattering away, despite their professor's orders. After a few seconds of waiting in vain, the professor let out a deafening whistle that I found more than just a bit irritating.

The girls became silent.

"I shouldn't have to do that. Moving on, this is the Opera Garnier. Trick question; does anyone know who constructed it?"

A girl with shorter hair raised her hand. Looking at her, it made me chuckle to think that raising her hand was the only way that anyone could even see her. She couldn't have been any taller than five feet in height.

The professor looked in her direction. "Yes, Maria?"

"Charles Garnier?" the girl squeaked.

"Good! You've done your research."

The girl named Maria seemed to awkwardly jump in place, as if she was secretly congratulating herself. I began tapping my foot in my impatience.

"Forgetting someone?" I hissed quietly.

Two girls began whispering to each other.

"Did you hear that?" asked one of the girls to the other. The other girl nodded.

"Fiorenza!" called the professor to one of the girls, "Who designed this opera house?"

The prettier girl replied. "Charles Garnier."

The teacher glared at the girl for a second. "You're lucky. Angelina? What year was the Garnier built?"

The other girl shrugged. "I don't know."

"That's because you weren't paying attention. I just said the answer." The professor looked at the short girl, or rather, the top of her head. "Maria, when was the Garnier built?"

"Wait, wait, I know this one," she said, unnecessarily rushing her words. "1874!!" she exclaimed, much louder than needed be.

"Yes." The professor checked the bracelet on her wrist. "Sig. Randazzo should be here any second now. Actually, he was supposed to be here five minutes ago." How she knew the time from looking at her bracelet, I hadn't the slightest idea. I walked over to the professor and looked over her shoulder at her bracelet. I was astounded. What I thought was a bracelet was actually a pocket watch that could be worn on the wrist. Remarkable! I suppose it really wasn't a pocket watch after all. It was more of a 'wrist-watch'.

"Sigra. Caruso?" asked the rather anxious-looking Maria.

"Yes?"

"When are the boys going to be here?" Some of the other girls snickered. "What?" she snapped. "I want to see my brother, that's all."

"Sure," I heard one of the girls respond.

Not a moment later, the main doors burst open and a man wearing what I presumed was a men's suit rushed in to meet Signora Caruso.

"I'm so sorry we're late! We got stuck at the Bastille by mistake, and then we had to come back here, and everything's just one big mess. Again, I'm so sorry I kept you waiting."

Signora Caruso smiled in return. "Don't worry; we were just having our daily dose of history in the meantime."

"Well," the man panted, "That's good. Well, anyway, the boys are in the bus waiting. I should go help get them unpacked. Look, maybe you could get them situated in their rooms while I take care of the boys?"

"Sure, of course," Signora Caruso smiled. "Ladies, let's get you set up." Signora Caruso turned and began heading up the grand staircase, and turned in the direction of the dormitories. I followed, finding no better way to spend my time. Signora Caruso would occasionally turn to face the group, making certain that none of the girls had wandered off.

Fiorenza and Angelina stayed near the back of the group, talking as usual.

"Angelina," Fiorenza started, "It feels like we're being followed." Angelina nodded. Fiorenza's upper lip curled into a scowl as she looked behind her. I almost thought I felt my heart stop as she looked my direction. Her dark eyes scanned where my figure should have been. It was more than slightly unnerving. She seemed so normal, other than her above average appearance. Something was different about her. That was apparent as soon as she started to detect my presence. I just didn't understand why.

When the group and I reached the dormitories, Signora Caruso stopped and faced the girls.

"Now, when you get in, you'll see your luggage is already in there. Since there are so many rooms, we've put you two to a room. We want you to have fun, seeing as this is a vacation and we are in a different country. But you _will_ be on your best behavior and you _will_ pick up after yourselves. Remember; you're representing Venice on your stay here. Is that understood?"

The group of girls nodded.

"Good. If you look on the wall, you can see that your names are taped up by your room. They'll be removed after the first week, so it'd be best if you memorized them." Signora Caruso stopped and smiled. "Now go have fun."

The girls darted off their separate ways. I followed Fiorenza and Angelina, solely for the fact that their names were the only ones that I knew, other than Maria, and I knew better than to follow someone with more sugar in their composition than Christine's tea.

They scanned the walls, searching for their names. My stomach began to ice over as they neared Christine Daae's old room. There on a piece of new-looking parchment beside the door read '_Fiorenza Alfieri'_ and '_Angelina Mazzoli'_. They squealed loudly when they saw that they were sharing a room together, and I thought for a second that my eardrums would shatter if they didn't stop at once. I began to feel extremely faint as these two young ladies opened the door and entered the room of my lovely Christine. Everything was as she left it, except for the fact that another similar bed had been moved in. I was half-tempted to burst out in tears as I noted the obvious; that Christine wasn't there. With a bracing breath I entered behind them, feeling sorrow at the missing star that used to reside there. Fiorenza and Angelina collapsed on their beds and began laughing for no apparent reason. After flailing for a second, Fiorenza sat up.

"Isn't this awesome?!" she screeched. "Here we are in Paris, France, we get our own rooms, and we get to stay here for a year!"

"I know!" Angelina squealed in return. This is so amazing!"

"Yeah, I know this is going to sound a bit nerdy, but can you imagine the acoustics in this place? It's huge!"

"Oh, I know. You can play your instruments and sing and it'll sound like a recording studio, or something."

I started to wonder what a recording studio was.

"I can play my violin and I'll sound like Joshua Bell! And then I can play the piano and sound like, I don't know, Yanni, or whatever. This going to completely rule, you know that, right?"

"Obviously," Angelina retorted with a smile.

"Anyway, let's get our stuff unpacked. We have to meet by the grand staircase at five. It's four now."

"Yeah, good idea."

The two began unpacking their belongings, and the list of things I had never seen before lengthened. Fiorenza brought up a large white pillow that resembled some sort of deformed kitten head, with absurdly large blue eyes, small ears, and no nose or mouth. She held the pillow to her chest and shortly after set it on the bed. After that, she pulled out a stuffed toy to match the pillow. A white cat with large blue eyes, no nose and no mouth. She placed it on the bed next to the pillow. Angelina looked over at her friend and shook her head.

"You and your cats," she sighed.

"What? I like cats," she shrugged. "And look, I brought a picture of Bella, look!" she cooed as she shoved a picture in Angelina's face.

"You're a dork, Fiora," she laughed, as she set a thick, pink quilt on her bed. "Who brings a picture of their cat with them?"

"I do," Fiorenza replied. Her espresso eyes closed as she began posing, showing her superiority in a joking manner.

"You strut that stuff," Angelina laughed as she continued putting her clothes in Christine's old bureau.

Fiorenza began laughing hysterically, brightening her sharp features. Her teeth were unusually straight.

"Wow," she sighed, drying her eyes. She bent over and started putting her clothes in the lower drawers of the same bureau. "You know what? I'm gonna change out of this stupid uniform. It makes me look like an old grandma."

"I'm going to do the same in a second, here."

Out of respect for the young ladies, and for my own dignity, I left the room. Ironically, after I did so, the door closed. I stood outside the door, feeling somewhat ashamed for following these two young girls, who looked no older than seventeen or eighteen each. When I started to dwell upon it, I had actually no reason at all, morally or personally for following them. I stared down at the toe of my shoe, and after a while I began counting the ridges in the sole. I counted to one hundred sixty-five when the door swung open. Seeing that as an invitation, I entered the room again.

Fiorenza was dressed in a long, low-shouldered white sweater, and rather form-fitting I might add, and a pair of modern-looking light blue trousers (I believe I heard from one of the girls that they were referred to as "jeans"), with holes ripped in the left knee and opposite thigh. Why she would choose to wear clothes with holes in them was beyond me, but it almost seemed as if the holes were intentionally made. On her feet appeared to be white ballerina shoes with firmer soles. The white of her sweater was highlighted magnificently by her lengthy black curls, and rested upon her poorly covered bosom was a silver, heart-shaped locket. I wondered what might be inside that locket.

Her friend, Angelina was dressed in a small-looking pink shirt that lacked sleeves and read 'Dolce & Gabbana' across the front in blue lettering. Her bottoms were similar to Fiorenza's, except they didn't have holes in them. Her shoes were barely shoes at all. They almost appeared to be half-shoes. They consisted of the bottoms of a shoe with no back, and a single string that made of v-shape and went in between her first and second toes. The string was pink and the bottom was black. Her toenails had been painted pink with something or another. Her fingernails matched.

Fiorenza took a small bag of cosmetics over to the mirror I knew all too well in order to put them on. I made certain not to stand anywhere within the mirrors range of reflection. I've heard often heard of reflections of spirits being seen in mirrors and I most certainly did not want to become one of them! Putting on a thin layer of black substance around her eyes and on her eyelashes, she stood at most an inch from the mirror. After she finished and put her feminine accents away, she pulled out a rather spacious pallet of different-colored powder. She decided on light blue and applied it to her eyes. She observed her work for a moment, and then took out some sort of rouge and foundation. The only reason I knew what some of these cosmetics were called was from living with Christine. After she was done with that, Angelina spoke.

"God, are you done yet?" she complained, holding her own bag of cosmetics.

"Hold on!" Fiorenza whined, "I have to make sure I look good."

"Why, in case Alessandro comes hitting on you again?"

"Alessandro?!" she scowled. "Ew, no. I could never like him. He's too weird. No," she interrupted herself, "It's like, 'I don't like trumpet players'," she continued in a deep voice. She then started laughing, as she put away her previous 'necessities'. As if her bag was never-ending, she pulled out something else.

"Oh, come on! Are you serious?" Angelina grumbled.

"Hey, shut up. You know I need my lip gloss," she chuckled as she applied a stick of something pink to her mouth. She put it away and took out a brush in which she proceeded to run through her hair. She then replaced that and walked over to her bed to which all of her belongings were spread out upon.

"Are you done yet?" Angelina asked.

"Yeah, I'm done now," Fiorenza replied, picking up a bottle of translucent purple-looking liquid.

"_Grazie, Dio_," sighed Angelina under her breath as she went to the mirror to put on her façade of pink. Fiorenza sprayed the bottle of liquid on her torso twice, and began to fan herself. Despite my lack of a nose, my sense of smell was keen. The scent of lavender and vanilla rose into the air.

Angelina began intentionally coughing. "What is that?" she snarled, covering her nose.

"It's mine. I got it for my birthday."

"Wow, that's pretty bad."

"No, it's not. I like it."

"Whatever you say." An odd noise started coming from somewhere in the room. It sounded like a strange sort of music. The language, though, I couldn't identify, but I assumed it to be Japanese.

"Ooh!" squeaked Fiorenza, "I got a message!" she sang in an odd voice. She danced over to the bed, where she picked up one of the strange boxes I had seen people talking into earlier.

"From?" Angelina asked.

"Aww!" she cooed as she stared at the box.

"What?" Angelina inquired with interest.

"It's from my Nonna! She says, 'I hope you and Angelina are having a fun time in Paris. I miss you already. Write back when you find time.' I love my Nonna," she pouted as she held the box to her chest. The box was white and rounded, with teal along the edges.

"Your grandma's so nice! I love your grandma! Oh hey, by the way, where'd you get that phone?" Angelina asked.

That device didn't look like any telephone I had ever seen. Perhaps this one was special because it lacked a cord. Perhaps it used some sort of invisible signal…

"Oh, this one?" She held up the box. It appeared to be partially clear on the front, with a picture inside. "I got it for my birthday."

"Oh, that's neat."

I looked at the clock. It was quarter to five. I wished to bring that to their attention, but I wasn't sure how. I spotted an old alarm clock on top of the bureau and I wondered if hitting it would do anything. I walked over to the clock and attempted to hit it. It remained in its place. Now I understood why spirits were rumored to groan and moan. Everything was infuriatingly frustrating! I tried again to hit it. Nothing. This time, I figured to approach the problem with a new method. I picked up the clock and threw it to the floor. I used more force than I intended, and the clock shattered. Little gold and copper pieces spread all over the floor.

The two girls screamed and wrapped their arms around each other.

"Oh my God," Fiorenza sobbed, her voice shaky. "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know. I think we should ask for a new room right now."

"I don't want to move. I don't want to move. I don't want to move," Fiorenza repeated, shaking her head.

"Come on, let's go. We'll go together," Angelina panted. The two locked hands and sped past me and out the door. I followed, as before. The two ran down the hall and eventually down to the grand staircase. A group had already formed there, and Sigra. Caruso and the man who arrived late were standing there. Sigra. Caruso was in conversation with the man when the pair arrived.

"Excuse me one moment," she said to the man. "Excuse me, ladies. Where were you? You were supposed to be here five minutes ago."

"I'm sorry, Sigra. Caruso, but there was this clock in the room and it flew off the dresser on its own and landed on the floor, and you can ask Angina, she saw it too, and we're, like, really scared now, and we want a new room!" Fiorenza gasped for air and started to break into tears. Angelina went over to Fiorenza and wrapped her arms around her frightened friend. I could tell by the way that her chest heaved that Angelina was just as afraid. My mood dimmed. I had no intention of frightening them, but then again, what did I expect to happen? For something inanimate to move and for them to go on with their lives as if everything was normal?

I was ashamed of myself. For one of the few times I hadn't intended to frighten people, I had done it anyway. It didn't matter whether or not I was alive or dead, I would always frighten people. I was thinking of locking myself in hiding again, in my little house by the lake, with nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company. If I did that, I would no longer frighten people.

Sigra. Caruso and the man beside her looked at one another. "Enough with the drama," the man said. "Go ask someone what you missed."

"Sig. Randazzo!" Fiorenza screeched, "You don't believe me! Ask Angelina, if you don't believe me!"

"She's not making it up," Angelina replied.

"Yeah, okay," Signor Randazzo replied. "Just go ask someone what you missed," he repeated.

"Well, can we get a new room, or what?!" Fiorenza snapped.

"Hey, watch your tone!" Signor Randazzo retorted. "No, you're not getting a new room because supposedly a clock was sitting wrong. Go!"

Fiorenza growled and stormed down the main staircase. "Okay, whatever! If I just vanish in the middle of night, you'll know what happened! Maybe if I vanish on stage during a performance, you'll believe me!" I laughed at the irony of the situation. Fiorenza spun around. "Who just laughed at me?!" she snapped.

Angelina eyed Fiorenza strangely. "No one's laughing, Fiorenza."

Fiorenza fumed silently, then wheeled around and continued down the staircase.

"I'm losing my fricken' mind, she snapped, as she stormed down the grand staircase. She looked around, presumably looking for someone to get information from. She stopped in front of Maria, who was looking at the building through her "phone".

"Maria," snapped Fiorenza, as she approached the vertically challenged child, "What did I miss?"

"Well," Maria began, in a voice far too altering in pitch for my tolerance, "Dinner is at eight. We're not allowed in any rooms except our own, and we have to be in bed by eleven."

"Okay. Thanks," Fiorenza replied. She then walked over to Angelina, and relayed the message.

"I wonder what dinner's going to be like," Angelina thought aloud. "Hopefully they'll give us Italian food."

"Yeah, me too," replied Fiorenza. Why the two were so fearful of being served French cuisine was beyond my understanding, but I continued to listen.

Fiorenza looked in my direction for a brief moment before turning her head once again to her friend. "On second thought, I wouldn't mind trying a bit of French food. After all, we couldn't get this at home, right?"

"Good point," shrugged Angelina. The two began walking in the direction of their dormitories, when a young man approached them. He was dressed in a thick-looking fully sleeved shirt that had an extra piece of material by the back of the neck, a large trail of a metallic substance that ran from the bottom to the top of the neck, and had what appeared to be symmetrical holes on either side of the metallic line. This strange piece of clothing was cream-colored with a large brown horizontal stripe across the front. He wore jeans that were darker in color than those of Fiorenza's, and on his feet were oddly shaped shoes that were white with brown stitching. He was tall and lean, with dark eyes and a dark complexion to match, and he appeared to be of the same general age as Fiorenza and Angelina.

"Hey," he started as he looked directly at Fiorenza. "How's it going?"

Angelina looked at Fiorenza, smiled strangely, and began walking up to hers and Fiorenza's room.

"Things have been pretty good," Fiorenza replied. "So, what do you think of this place?"

"Pretty cool," the young man replied. "You excited?"

"You bet! Hey, Roderigo, want to hang out with me and Angelina later?"

"Sure!" replied Roderigo. "Where at?"

"I don't know," Fiorenza shrugged. "I'll think of somewhere."

Roderigo laughed. "Alright. Oh, hey, did you hear about the story going around?"

"No, what story?"

Roderigo moved a little closer to Fiorenza, "Well, they say there's a ghost that walks here."

Fiorenza laughed, although I could tell by the manner in which she did so that it was forced.

"They say that he was a musical genius, and that he even helped build this opera house."

At once, I could see where this was headed.

"Except," Roderigo continued, "He spent his time locked away in the cellars, because he was hideously disfigured. They say when he was about he would always wear a black mask to hide his face."

Fiorenza began twisting at a loose string on her top.

"He did have a love interest, though. Her name was Christine Daae."

I mouthed the name along with him.

"She was orphaned when she was little, but became a star on the stage. But as the legend goes, the ghost was the one that gave her the voice that made her so famous. Eventually, he fell in love with her, and even kidnapped her for days at a time."

Fiorenza looked up at him in interest.

"However," Roderigo trailed off, building suspense, "Christine already had a lover. His name was Raoul. They were the typical childhood sweethearts. And when the ghost found out about this, he became extremely jealous. He kidnapped her and refused to release her. He even went so far as killing for her."

I noticed perspiration beginning to form at Fiorenza's hairline.

"Raoul discovered this and traveled down into the bottom cellar to save his Christine."

I found it oddly comical that Nadir was mentioned nowhere.

"But on his way down, he fell into one of the ghost's traps." Roderigo's voice quieted to a whisper, philosophical gestures adding to the intensity of his tale. "Raoul had no idea where he was, because all was black. But sooner or later, the lights came on. And he looked around for a way out of the trap, but all he could see were mirrors!"

I grinned. I remembered the viscount and Nadir and that fateful moment when they experienced the true terror of my torture chamber.

"Then, things began to get even stranger!" Roderigo exclaimed in a whisper. "The mirrors began to show him things! They showed him a desert! As far as the eye could see, desert, sand, and barren ground. What was even worse was that heat began to pour in, and make the scene all the more realistic."

Fiorenza nervously played with her hair, attempting not to show her distress.

"After what seemed like hours of just dying of thirst and heat exhaustion, trying to find his way out, he spotted a button on the floor. He pressed it, and a panel in the floor opened to reveal a hole."

_Moi pardon_?! Whatever happened to my iron tree and the noose that hung from it? Whatever happened to the part where the dear viscount nearly pulled the trigger on himself? He omitted everything interesting!

"He crawled down through the hole and landed on the floor of the bottom cellar. Then, in his side quest for water, he felt a barrel close by, so he opened it to hopefully get something or another to drink. But he soon found out that what was in his hands wasn't water at all. It was gunpowder! He then noticed that there were many barrels; enough to bring down the entire opera house if a match was lit!"

"Go on," Fiorenza egged, anxious to hear the rest of the story.

"Well, he threw the gunpowder down and continued searching for Christine. But he was approached by none other than the ghost himself! And… Long story short, they quarreled to the death."

Fiorenza drew a sharp intake of breath. I, on the other hand, was quite appalled at the inaccuracy of the story. The viscount and I never "quarreled to the death". Roderigo also failed to mention the incident with the scorpion and the grasshopper, which were how things truly ended.

"Raoul won," Roderigo stated.

I beg your pardon, sir?! "_Raoul won_"?! I had never been so irritated at a child in all of my years! Nobody truly "won"; it was merely due to _my_ generosity that everyone lived!

"And he took Christine far away from the Garnier, and no one ever saw them again."

Fiorenza swallowed. "Wow, uh, that's interesting," she stammered.

"Yeah. But anyway, that's just a story. There's not really a ghost here."

"Of course," Fiorenza laughed forcibly.

"Well, I'm gonna go back up to my dorm. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Alright. See you," Fiorenza waved as she walked over to the daydreaming Angelina. "Hey, Angi. Wake up." She waved her hand in front of her friend's face and startled her out of her trance.

"Oh, hey," Angelina greeted. "So, that took forever. What did he say? Did he ask you out?"

"No, he didn't ask me out, you weirdo! He was telling me this weird story about this place."

"Oh. That doesn't sound like fun."

"No, not really. Anyway, we should head back up to our room now. Hang out; talk a bit."

"Sure, why not?"

The two started up to their room, and as before, I followed. Something about Fiorenza still had me curious. As they walked in their room, they were astonished to find the fragments of the broken clock missing.

"Okay, that's getting really weird," Angelina stated tunefully.

Fiorenza simply shrugged. "Maintenance probably cleaned it up."

"Oh. Probably." They sat on their designated beds and began arranging their belongings. "Did you even bring a blanket?"

"Duh." Fiorenza brought up from the floor a large white comforter, and spread it across the bed.

"What's with you and your obsession with the color white?"

"I thought I told you," Fiorenza replied. "I always have something white with me to remember Albi."

"Wasn't Albi your cat?"

"Yeah," Fiorenza sighed, staring at the floor. "She was with me ever since we were babies. She passed away last year.

"Aww, I'm sorry."

"It's still kind of hard to talk about."

"Oh, I understand. It was the same with my Nonna Gigi. She was really close with me."

"So, what time is it?" Fiorenza asked, adjusting the picture of Bella on the nightstand.

"Umm…" she hummed, taking out her version of a phone, which was pink with a blue floral pattern. "It's six thirty."

"Six thirty?!" Fiorenza repeated. "Where did all that time go?!"

"I don't know, up your butt."

The two girls began laughing again, which was quite a trial on the ears, so to speak.

"Wow. That was awesome. So, how long do you think you're going to stay up for?" Fiorenza asked.

"I don't know. Eleven's pretty late for me, so I'll probably be in bed by ten."

"Oh, really? Okay."

"Hey, I'll be right back. I have to use the bathroom."

"Nice," laughed Fiorenza. "I'll wait here."

"Alright." Angelina left the room, and closed the door behind her.

Fiorenza immediately reached under the bed and pulled out a little wooden box. She looked at the door and then looked at the box. With a sigh, she opened the box and pulled out of deck of cards that I recognized as tarot. I had been skilled in the art myself, having lived with gypsies for a period of my life.

She took the cards and shuffled them. After shuffling, she split the deck in two and placed the bottom half on the top. She sighed again.

"If Angelina saw me doing this, she'd think I was a nutcase."

By the term "nutcase", I deemed that she meant "insane".

"Let's see if this story is true, even though I've never really done a reading on a building before."

She laid out three cards: a simple past, present and future reading.

"Let's see what's here for the past…" She turned over a card. The Tower. "The Tower," she mumbled, concentrating on the card. "Destruction and chaos in order to make way for a new beginning." She flipped over the middle card that represented the present.

The Emperor.

"Hmm," she hummed, attempting to find the meaning. "Intelligence rather than passion… How strange. A building with passion. Huh."

She continued, and turned over the final card.

"And as for the future…."

Reversed Nine of Swords.

"Uh oh," she sighed tunefully. "Imprisonment, suspicion, doubt, and shame. Well, that's lovely. I'll do another one tomorrow."

The clicking of a door handle apparently startled Fiorenza, because she gasped shrilly and quickly shuffled the cards into the box, which she replaced under the bed.

"Hey, Fiora. I have returned!" Angelina sang, prancing her way into the room.

"Took you long enough," laughed Fiorenza, getting up and sitting on the bed.

"Shut up, I had to pee. I waited the entire bus ride and thought I was gonna explode."

I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.

"So, what time is it?" asked Angelina, collapsing with a reverberating bounce.

Fiorenza picked up her phone and looked at the front of it. "It's 6:45. Want to start heading down there for dinner?"

"Why so early?"

"I don't want to be stuck waiting, you know? I hate waiting."

"Yeah, me too," Angelina agreed. The two girls stood and walked out of the room. Finding it senseless to follow them to a meal, I decided to leave the room and go for a walk around Paris.

When I exited the building I felt incredibly awkward as I found a long haired cat with similar markings to Ayesha's, sitting before me and staring in my direction. After returning the gaze for a few pointless seconds, I turned and started in the direction of the cemetery.

As I walked, I noticed that I could hear the sound of my heels against the ground. They echoed strangely, as all other sound faded from audibility. I could oddly feel a slight chill through my heavy clothing. A few moments passed, and the silence was indeed golden. After a few more moments passed, I began to gain the feeling that I was being intentionally followed. I knew from past experiences that ignoring such feelings was not the wisest decision. I turned and looked about me. When I saw nothing, I wondered if I was losing my sanity, or if some state of irrational paranoia had crept in. It was only until I directed my vision lower that I realized that I had not been mistaken. Waiting patiently was the same cat, sitting and swishing its tail.

By some stroke of illogical thought, I came to the conclusion that in fact it was I who should be following the cat, instead of the cat following me. Thus, I turned and began doing as my brain suggested for me to do. And the cat seemed to agree. The cat walked slowly, patiently, looking behind it shoulder to make certain that I was following. I followed aimlessly, forgetting my original agenda, and I did this for what must have been a decent ten minutes before I looked up and realized that I was in an unfamiliar area. It was a place shrouded in darkness, and odd masonry that served as the walls and roof. I, as a mason, had never seen this form of material before, and the knowledge that I was in an unfamiliar area surrounded by more things that were alien to me unnerved me more than just slightly. However, I had my _punjab_ at hand, at that was all I needed.

The cat looked up at me once more, and continued walking. I, for whatever reason, continued to follow that obnoxious feline, up until I came face to face with a dead end. I looked down at the cat expectantly. The cat walked right up to the wall and stood on its hind legs, placing its front two on the wall. The cat then turned in the other direction and darted off.

I growled low in frustration. I had just been led to some unknown corner of Paris, and left to find my own way out, which I highly doubted would be simple. On the other hand, I never refused a challenge. I turned in the direction that the cat ran and was greeted with a sight that would have made most others yelp out in fear. A dark figure stood a distance down, motionless and intimidating.

Instinctively, I reached for the noose at my waist. However, when I observed closely, I noticed that the figure could not have been more than five feet and three inches tall- a typical height for a woman. I removed my hand from my weapon, and walked forward to approach the mysterious figure. The figure, in response stood still, and I continued forward, as much as my stomach had iced over. When at last I was before this figure, I presented myself as a gentleman, as I was taught early on in life to do

"_Bonsoir_," I greeted, with the slight bow of my head.

"Good evening," the figure replied. The voice that emanated from the shadow was feminine, certainly, but also as definitely, old and tired-sounding. I could not see her face, for a shawl hid her features. At her side, I noticed the cat.

"There isn't a trace of doubt in my mind that you were the one who led me here," I stated stupidly. "The question that I have for you is _why_ you've led me here."

"Why, you ask? Because I have seen you wandering about, acting as you did in life."

"Oh? You've been watching me, have you? Why may this be?"

"This may be because I am what one may refer to as an enchantress. You can tell by my voice that I am of considerable age, correct?"

I nodded.

"But what you would not be able to tell is just how old I am. I'll tell you now, as I presume you are the sort of man not to estimate."

She was correct on this.

"I am precisely three-hundred and thirty-seven years of age."

For a reason unbeknownst to me, I believed her instantaneously. "You have not answered my questioned, Madame. Why have you led me here?"

"I have with me an elixir that could with ease give you life again."

"How is this? I lack a suitable body."

"Be silent and I shall tell you. This will restore to you the previous body that you inhabited."

"If you have such abilities, is there any possibility that you have a cure for this?" I removed my mask and faced her. I heard a slight gasp escape her, and I replaced my mask.

The draped woman shook her head. "No. I apologize. "I have never seen a deformity of that severity in all of my years."

I felt the sudden urge to cry at this.

"However," the old woman continued, "With this elixir, you will have no pain in your joints, and you will be as limber as if you were a child. Your heart will be steady as a draft horse's, and seizures will be a thing of the past."

I was beginning to like the sound of this.

"This sounds far too beneficial to be possible. What are the negative aspects?"

"I see that your suspicion has been roused. Appropriately so. This lasts for only one year."

"May I ask how you have elongated your life so drastically?" I asked with caution.

"I have sacrificed everything I have in order to obtain eternal life. I have sacrificed my beauty, my health, my talent, and all material possessions. I have sacrificed my ability to eat or drink, and even the ability to sleep. What does remain is my wisdom, which will be my next sacrifice."

"There is only so much one can sacrifice," I tried to reason.

"With each thing I sacrifice, I find one new thing to obtain, so that I may eventually give that up as well."

My stomach churned at such a pathetic and miserable way to live. Clinging on to that last painstaking fiber of life, rather than face the final calm of death. Like an adduction… Like morphine… I would much sooner die than torture myself with eternal life. Every day, walking with the pain and the weight of life's heavy burdens upon one's shoulders… Why anyone would want to live like that is beyond me.

"What will come to pass after this second life ends?" I asked, attempting to distract myself from the poor dependant woman's situation.

"You will return to this state. You may also return to whatever age you desire, with this elixir. Even so, after that period of life ends, you will return to the age you first passed away at."

This sounded infinitely suspicious, however, what could possibly happen? I was already dead.

"Very well. I'll accept your offer."

The cat looked up at the woman and then walked over to my side, where it proceeded to sit down.

"She is attracted to you," the old woman stated. "I would be very thankful if you would take her and care for her. She will respond to whatever name you give her."

I nodded, wondering how she could possibly know this.

"She is a Balinese. Somewhat similar in appearance to the Siamese you previously owned."

My eyes began to well as I remembered the joy that Ayesha had given me.

"She is at peace, _monsieur_. She waits for you."

"Do you have a name, Madame?" I asked finally.

"My name is Tshilaba."

I could at once identify her place of origin. Her name was Romani, which I had heard before, living with gypsies as I did. It made sense; her skill in antidotes and potions was commonplace for those of her blood.

I bowed lowly "Others address me as Erik."

"A pleasure to meet you."

"I would advise you to follow this Balinese wherever she may lead you. It would be wise to do so." Tshilaba turned around and faced the opposite direction. "She will lead you from this place. I suggest that you return to the Garnier. Your fate will be determined there."

I was taken back at the uncanny manner of her words; words that would normally send me into a fit of laughter. Instead, I heeded them with caution, and bowed my head to leave.

"One last thing," Tshilaba interrupted. "You can still be killed. Be wary of those you meet. The elixir is in the pocket of your cloak. Take it if you wish. However, I must warn you; it isn't the most pleasant tasting." She cackled, as I felt my pocket. She wasn't lying. I should have figured. Gypsies had always had their way of sneaking things in places and just as easily sneaking them out of places. I faced my head down to look at the cat, which I was simultaneously thinking of a name for. When I looked up, Tshilaba was gone.


End file.
